


A Fighting Chance

by dracoqueen22



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, See Warnings in End Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24652498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Megatron wants intel at a cost Soundwave is unwilling to pay. Enter Prowl, who is eager to remind the Decepticons they should never underestimate the power in a moment of kindness.
Relationships: Prowl/Soundwave
Comments: 26
Kudos: 193





	A Fighting Chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SunnySidesofBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnySidesofBlue/gifts).



Prowl is in enormous pain.  
  
Or at least he would be, if he had not dampened his sensory receptors and shunted all pain responses to a delayed queue, as Jazz had taught him. Ratchet would have a fit of epic proportions if he knew that not only could Jazz do this thing, but he had also taught it to Prowl.  
  
It was dangerous. It put a lot of stress on his spark and on his processing capacities. Only trained medics should dampen sensory receptors because amateurs risked a serious system malfunction.  
  
It’s not a permanent solution. It won’t work indefinitely. It’s only meant to be a temporary stopgap. The Autobots must retrieve him soon.  
  
Prowl is grateful Jazz had gone against the grain. Otherwise, he doesn’t know if he could have survived this. His sensory panels are ragged lines of supposed agony. His right hand is a snarled mess. He’s a landscape of dents and tears and dried energon.  
  
He’s exhausted. He’s low on all of his critical fluids, with his energon reserves especially low. The Decepticons barely have any fuel for themselves, much less to spare for a prisoner who is not pulling his weight.  
  
Torture is a matter of course. It won’t work, but Prowl is not surprised Megatron is making the attempt. He’s a fool, and he’s desperate, and there’s nothing so dangerous as a desperate fool.  
  
The Autobots will come. Prowl is one-hundred percent sure of this. How and when exactly, well, that is an ever-forming calculation based on injuries, supplies and reconnaissance. They will not leave him to the Decepticons.  
  
Prowl only has to endure as long as he can. So he dampens his pain receptors a bit further, until input is nothing but a dull murmur.  
  
And he waits.  
  


~

  
  
"It's a simple task!" Megatron roars and stomps across the front of the bridge, swinging wildly, Skywarp ducking to avoid the blow. "I want the codes to the Autobot base. I want the locations of their energon depots. I want answers!"  
  
"Torture isn't always effective, boss," Vortex says as if he has a death wish, and never the most loyal of companions, the other members of Bruticus take a visible step away from him. "He's been trained ta take it."  
  
Megatron whirls toward Vortex, fire in his optics. "I don't want excuses. I want results. I _want_ Optimus' head!"  
  
"Well, you're not gonna get it through torture," Vortex drawls.  
  
The distinct whine of the fusion cannon cycling into readiness fills the silence of the room.  
  
Onslaught sighs and steps in front of his subordinate. "Perhaps you need another approach, sir," he says, and his gaze turns toward Soundwave pointedly.  
  
Dawning lights Megatron's optics and Soundwave wishes, in that moment, he'd had the good sense not to be present on the bridge for Megatron's ceaseless, pointless ranting. He should have found something of import to research rather than make himself a target.  
  
"Soundwave!" Megatron barks, whirling toward him. "Rip the information from his head. I don't care if it leaves him a gibbering mess. I want that data."  
  
"Negative," Soundwave says, grateful for the vocal modulator which kept his voice without expression. Megatron could never misinterpret his tone, like he did Starscream’s, because Soundwave’s tone does not change. "Prowl's firewalls beyond capabilities to pierce with telepathic coercion. Processor labyrinthine in nature."  
  
Megatron snarls, "What?"  
  
"Your precious telepath can't do it," Starscream says in a bored tone, examining the tips of his finger talons. "Prowl's processor is too complex. It doesn't work that way."  
  
Soundwave can’t decide if Starscream’s interference is a help or a hindrance. Will Megatron be reasonable, or will the perceived failure work to Starscream’s advantage.  
  
One never quite knows with Starscream.  
  
Megatron’s engine growls, his field erupting with furious indignation, only for it to abruptly cease. He straightens, and a dangerous, feral smile curves his lips.  
  
“There are no firewalls in a merge,” he reasons aloud. “There are no defenses. Nothing to defy you. Isn’t that right, Soundwave?”  
  
For a moment, Soundwave panics. Rational thought slips out of his hands. To defy Megatron goes against everything he believes, but the very idea of forcing a merge upon Prowl to extract information... it disgusts him to the depths of his spark.  
  
"Negative," Soundwave says, shaking his head. "Merge would be--"  
  
"I didn't ask if you wanted to do it," Megatron snaps, and the whole room is stripped of sound as even the dullest chatter goes silent. Many Decepticons pretend they can’t see the interplay.  
  
Sometimes, feigning ignorance is safer.  
  
Megatron stalks closer. "I presented a solution. And you're going to do it." His optics are burning embers of fury, of loathing for Optimus Prime, and there’s little logic can do against such visceral hate. "I want those codes. I want those coordinates. And I want to see the Autobots crushed. Do you understand me?"  
  
Soundwave works his intake, his spark hammering in his chassis. "Nega--"  
  
The words die in his modulator as the thunderous boom of the fusion cannon pierces the quiet. Buzzsaw vanishes from Soundwave's shoulder, the searing heat of the discharge crackling the paint along Soundwave's helm. His left audial screams pain, but it's far quieter than the screech of agony from Laserbeak as Buzzsaw lays in a crumpled, smoking heap.  
  
The bond tells him Buzzsaw lives, but not for long. Not without immediate aid.  
  
And Megatron points the end of his cannon at Soundwave, right at his chassis, where Ravage and the twins sleep peacefully in his dock, and Megatron says, "I want those codes. I want those coordinates. I want Optimus' head. Do you understand me?"  
  
There's no sound louder than Soundwave's ragged ventilations, or Laserbeak keening as she hops around Buzzsaw's smoking chassis, or the panic strobing through Soundwave's spark.  
  
"Affirmative," Soundwave says. He bows his head from Megatron's gaze, his hands pulling into fists at his side.  
  
"Good." The fusion cannon winds down, and Megatron grins, wide and shark-like. "Get it done." He strides out of the bridge.  
  
All is silent in his wake.  
  
Soundwave waits until the door whooshes shut behind Megatron before he turns and crouches beside his avian cassettes. Laserbeak's optics burn with anger and fear and betrayal, energon staining the floor beneath her twin.  
  
A shadow falls over them; Soundwave doesn't have to look to know who it is.  
  
"It won't work," Starscream says as Soundwave coaxes Laserbeak into his dock and gently cradles Buzzsaw in his arms. "It won't work, and you'll fail, and what will you do then, Soundwave?"  
  
Soundwave looks up at him, hatred burning behind his visor, but if Starscream notices, he doesn't seem to care.  
  
"Stings, doesn't it?" Starscream asks, one wing flicking. "Guess you're no longer the favorite."  
  
And then he's gone, and Soundwave cradles the smoking evidence of Megatron's betrayal as he makes haste for his quarters, unable to trust anyone on board the Nemesis with Buzzsaw's repairs, save his own two hands.  
  


~

  
  
Prowl doesn't recharge. He knows better than to go completely offline while in Decepticon hands. At best, he manages a half-rest state, letting various systems idle out of sync to conserve energy and perform much-needed system checks.  
  
So when Megatron comes from him, Prowl is alert and online, waiting with dull surprise as to what torture might come next. As far as he knows, they've tried everything.  
  
He has two of the Constructicons with him -- Longhaul and Bonecrusher -- and they both enter Prowl's cell, grabbing him up despite the fact Prowl offers no resistance. He doesn't want to waste the energy.  
  
In the hall, Megatron waits, smiling and smug, arms crossed over his smug chassis. "One last chance, Prowl. Tell me what I want to know."  
  
Prowl lifts his chin. "If you'd but end this war, you could have the things you desire."  
  
Megatron's optics narrow, his smile faltering. "Winning this war is all the victory I need. I won't bow to an Autobot." He spins on a heelstrut. "Bring him. We have a very special treat planned for him today."  
  
More torture then.  
  
Prowl preemptively dials his routine pain receptors as low as he can, until all physical sensation is dull and muted, even the input from what little receptors remain in his sensory panels.  
  
They walk, not to the familiar torture chambers Prowl has visited on multiple occasions, but to another room. This one is brighter, less furnished. There is only a single item within -- an upright berth with straps meant for one's wrists, ankles, midsection, and Prowl guesses, across the forehead as well.  
  
Here, Soundwave and Starscream both wait, the latter by the door, striking up a casual, leaning pose, the former standing by the restraint device. Oddly, Frenzy is here as well, though he moves to stand next to Megatron.  
  
If Soundwave is present, that means Megatron intends to probe him telepathically. It has never worked before, but Prowl supposes Megatron tries many things repeatedly, even though they do not work. He is the definition of a fool.  
  
Longhaul and Bonecrusher strap him to the table, cinching him tightly so he can't move. The Constructicons leave, the rest remain, and Prowl stares back, unflinching. He buries his fear deep, where none of them can see or sense it.  
  
He won’t give them the satisfaction.  
  
"Soundwave," Megatron says. "Do it."  
  
"Affirmative," Soundwave says, and he stands in front of Prowl, blocking Prowl from seeing either Starscream or Megatron. He's holding a hardline cable in one hand.  
  
Prowl narrows his optics. "I may not struggle, but neither will I open freely for you."  
  
"Choice not ours," Soundwave intones, an odd distinction to make, before he physically pries open Prowl's dorsal panel, revealing the hardline ports in his side.  
  
The dampened sensors ensure Prowl feels no pain, and Soundwave plugging into him is only a dull sensation. The icy breath of Soundwave's digital presence, however, is immediate. Prowl quickly shores up his firewalls, preparing for a long, strenuous internal battle.  
  
Soundwave doesn't surge into an attack. Instead, his presence lingers, hovering outside Prowl's firewalls.  
  
"Prowl will not speak," the hazy construction of Soundwave's self says. "Megatron desperate."  
  
Prowl hopes he hides his surprise. "Obviously." A very curious turn of events, this is. What game is Soundwave playing?  
  
Soundwave's presence continues to linger though it flickers with static. "Merge demanded to acquire information," he transmits as his visor flashes in the real world, darkening in hue.  
  
Prowl goes still, ice sluicing through his lines, pooling around his spark. "The possibility of that working is slim, not to mention the risks involved for both parties. There is little guarantee."  
  
"Understood. Megatron believes it to be true, however." Soundwave pauses, and Prowl swears he detects a whiff of discomfort from the mech. "Attempts to convince otherwise proved pointless. Cassette injured."  
  
"He hurt one of your cassettes?" Prowl asks. Though it must not have been Frenzy, given that Frenzy looks unharmed. However, it does explain Frenzy's presence, and why he stands so close to Megatron, rather than at Soundwave's hand.  
  
Megatron does so love his hostages.  
  
Soundwave's visor flickers again. "Punishment encourages compliance."  
  
Prowl realizes then why Soundwave waits, why he talks, and why no assault has begun. "You don't want to do this."  
  
"Affirmative." There's no lie in the pulse of his presence. No hesitation either. As near as Prowl can tell, Soundwave is genuine in his reluctance.  
  
This is an opportunity, isn't it? One Prowl cannot ignore. If anything, he can show the Decepticons what danger they brought into their home. Megatron will learn why Prowl is the second in command.  
  
"Why would you serve a mech like that?" Prowl asks, leaning into the negative emotions slipping through the cracks of Soundwave's control. Surely Megatron's madness must be obvious now?  
  
Beyond their digital landscape, Megatron's voice pierces the digital conversation. "Soundwave!" he barks, and only because they are who they are, neither Prowl nor Soundwave startle. "What's taking so long?"  
  
Soundwave answers aloud, without taking his gaze from Prowl's, "Autobot's defenses many. Spark especially protected. Focus needed."  
  
He's succinct by necessity, as anyone familiar with spark and processor mechanics would understand, but Prowl catches a glimpse of Megatron, sees him put a hand on Frenzy's shoulder in tacit warning. A cold shiver travels along their connection, no doubt without Soundwave's permission.  
  
"Options limited," Soundwave says, internally once more, giving Prowl a knowing look. "Will Prowl comply?"  
  
Prowl quietly cycles a ventilation. "I won't give you information, not even to save the cassette because there are many more sparks at stake," he says, but before the spike of panic in Soundwave's field can truly rise, he adds, "but you may merge with me, if only to show Megatron how useless it is."  
  
It's a calculated risk, and Prowl will argue this until the day his spark extinguishes. Jazz, he thinks, would be proud. Optimus, perhaps a little less so.  
  
Soundwave nods. "Grat--"  
  
"I have an offer, however," Prowl interjects before Soundwave can get too comfortable in his relief.  
  
It's enough to give the mech pause. "Offer?"  
  
"Leave the Decepticons," Prowl suggests. "Take your cassettes and come with me instead. Megatron will continue to unravel, surely you can see this. If you want to keep them safe, their best chance is with us."  
  
Soundwave's jaw visibly tightens, the light behind his visor darkening. "Living in a cell not preferable."  
  
Prowl injects as much sincerity into his digital tone as he can muster. “There will be no cell,” he promises, and senses Soundwave’s presence actively listening. “We’ve integrated Decepticons before. True, not of your station, but it can be done. It will be done. You have my word.”  
  
Prowl is many, many things, but he’d like to think he has a reputation for being a mech of his word. A respected mech even across factional lines, much the same way Ultra Magnus’ gravitas is well-known and well-regarded.  
  
“No interrogations?” Soundwave asks, and Prowl can tell he’s wavering. He’s considering.  
  
Prowl would smile gently, if he could in this digital space. “I will ask for intel of course, but you’ll be under no obligation to provide it. I’m not so foolish as to let an opportunity escape without trying. You would be one to understand.”  
  
“Logical,” Soundwave says.  
  
“Always.”  
  
Prowl waits as Soundwave’s presence flickers, clearly ruminating. He’s a tide of intent and chaos against the blockade of Prowl’s firewalls. Primus, it should be Jazz here, trying to sell the Autobots, not Prowl. Jazz is the charismatic one. Prowl relies on logic and mathematics.  
  
Perhaps Soundwave does, too.  
  
Prowl can but hope.  
  
“Soundwave!” Megatron snarls, and there’s no missing the spike of fear in Soundwve’s presence, or the cold shiver that dances up Prowl’s spinal strut.  
  
Soundwave’s visor flares, and he puts a physical palm on Prowl’s chassis. “Agreed,” he says, across the open line, urgency in the forward flicker of his field. “Open chassis?”  
  
It’s impossible to fully lie through a hard-line connection. No matter how skilled a mech is at deception, the truth wins out when all one has is their very self, hovering in a digital space.  
  
Prowl grants access permission, and his chassis begins the laborious process of opening, something he hasn’t done in years. “Make it as convincing as you can,” he says, trying to stay calm though the thought of baring his spark to any Decepticon makes him quiver and rage. “If my calculations are correct, we can expect rescue in less than twelve hours.”  
  
“Prowl always accurate,” Soundwave says as his own chassis starts to part, with the same aching slowness of reluctance, the brilliant white-blue shine of it coming into view. “Apologies.”  
  
Prowl lowers his chin, optics dimming. “Noted.”  
  


~

  
  
Soundwave can’t imagine how much worse it would have been had Prowl truly fought him every step of the way. As it is, Prowl involuntarily resists, his discomfort too great to allow Soundwave to merge deeply, through no fault of his own. Soundwave struggles, also, knowing he’s being watched, his cassettes are in danger, and Prowl no more desires to touch sparks with him than Soundwave desires Prowl.  
  
It is as pointless with Prowl’s permission as it would have been without it, and in the aftermath, Soundwave loathes Megatron with a passion he can barely conceal. Prowl slumps in front of him, chassis sliding shut on automatic, as he slips into an agreed-upon stasis, not that Prowl has to pretend.  
  
Soundwave is exhausted, struggling to keep his own consciousness, the intangible structures of his spark aching and abraded. He wants nothing more than to recharge for days. Instead, he disconnects from Prowl with numb resignation, and says to Megatron,  
  
“Unable to access information.” He rolls his datacable, stowing it with deliberate motions.  
  
“Try again!” Megatron demands as Soundwave knew he would.  
  
Soundwave turns slowly, doesn’t have to effect a stagger, because he feels raw and drained, inside and out. “Time needed,” he says. “Risk destabilization. Core malfunction.”  
  
Rage flickers across Megatron’s face, his field blistering, Frenzy’s plating creaking under Megatron’s grip. “Explain.”  
  
“If you push him to do it again, they could both explode,” Starscream offers in a bored tone, arms folded over his chassis. “Boom goes the Nemesis.”  
  
Megatron’s jaw twitches. “Then you’ll try again tomorrow,” he says, and he shoves Frenzy away from him, toward Soundwave. “I don’t care if it’s a risk or not. I want my answers.”  
  
Soundwave glances at Starscream, expecting the Seeker to raise a protest, but Starscream stares blankly at the wall. His courage only goes so far.  
  
With Buzzsaw folded safely in his dock, Soundwave understands the reach of one’s courage.  
  
“Understood,” Soundwave says, and Megatron grins at him, proud and delighted.  
  
“Excellent.” He bangs on the door, and it opens, admitting Bonecrusher and Longhaul. “Take our guest back to his cell. He needs his rest.”  
  
Soundwave puts both hands on Frenzy’s shoulders, holding him as near as he dares, his knees trembling as he fights to stay upright. He says nothing as they unbind Prowl and drag him from the room, as Megatron follows after them, until only Starscream remains. The Seeker pushes himself off the wall and gives Soundwave a level look.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re planning, but you’d better do it fast,” Starscream says before he, too, leaves, and Soundwave is free to sink down to one knee, drawing in several ragged ventilations.  
  
“You okay, boss?” Frenzy asks, as though his own field doesn’t reek of barely contained fear.  
  
“Will discuss in private setting,” Soundwave says, and pops open his dock, gesturing to it. “Situation changed.”  
  
Frenzy, however, lifts his chin. “We’re leavin’ right?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Only then does Frenzy fold himself into Soundwave’s dock, safe alongside his siblings. Soundwave gives himself a moment to ventilate, a moment to mourn, and then he leaves the room as well.  
  
He has preparations to make.  
  


~

  
  
Prowl wakes to a violent shuddering, and the distant noise of ordinance. He forces himself fully online, despite the raw ache in his spark, and the lingering exhaustion.  
  
Once again, his calculations prove accurate.  
  
Prowl drags himself to his feet as his door rattles, and he’s almost to it when it slides open with an exuberant whoosh. He’s never been so happy to see Jazz’s stupid grin popping into view, leaving a puddle of seawater on the floor beneath him.  
  
Ratchet’s going to tear him a new one for that.  
  
“Ready to get out of here?” Jazz asks, trying to lean casually and seductively in the doorframe, because Jazz can’t do anything unless he does it casually and seductively.  
  
Prowl catches himself before he stumbles on a foot which abruptly doesn’t want to obey his commands. “Soundwave is coming with us,” he says. “Don’t let anyone shoot him.”  
  
Jazz does a double-take, which Prowl had not realized was a thing mechs actually do, before his face splits into a wide-grin. “Yeah, that tracks,” he says and claps Prowl on the shoulder. “Man, we should really let you get captured more often.”  
  
“Perhaps only keep it to once a decade.”  
  
Jazz barks a laugh and leads the way, keeping his comments to himself as Prowl alternates between walking under his own power, and leaning heavily on Jazz’s shoulder.  
  
To say that their extraction plan had caused quite a bit of chaos would be downplaying the situation. Water springs from multiple leaks in multiple locations. The ever-present stink of seawater and fish has worsened, and alarms flash in hypnotic, shrieking patterns. Prowl is too exhausted to do much more than follow Jazz, and rely on a sense of auto-pilot to keep himself on track.  
  
They reach the extraction point without fuss, and Prowl wonders how Wheeljack -- because honestly, who else could have created a small submarine designed to look like an Earth predator fish -- crafted this so quickly. Or perhaps he always had the project in some half-finished state in the back of the scrapyard he calls a laboratory.  
  
Inside, Soundwave sits, waiting, with several Autobots exchanging glances, holding their weapons in loose, but guarded hands, fingers wisely resting away from the triggers. All of them look to Prowl and Jazz for guidance, but Jazz just holds up his hands and says,  
  
“Don’t look at me, this is Prowl’s show,” and thumps the side of the contraption to add, “We’re all in, Jackie. Let’s go.”  
  
“Roger that, Jazz.”  
  
Prowl walks with all the dignity he can muster, despite his damaged state, and takes an open seat next to Soundwave. All of the seats around Soundwave are open, to be fair, so he hardly has to fight for the space.  
  
He looses a little sigh and allows himself to get comfortable. He catches Soundwave’s gaze and gives a nod, an implicit promise in the motion, and he says,  
  
“Welcome aboard.”  
  
Soundwave dips his head in the smallest of nods and says, “No interrogation. No cell.”  
  
“None,” Prowl says, and offlines his optics and tilts his head back against the rumbling wall.  
  
He’s survived the hardest part, so now he’s going to sleep, and worry about the rest when they get back to base, when they get back home.  
  
Megatron should have never underestimated him.  
  


***

**Author's Note:**

> *Coerced Consent from Both Parties  
> *Off-Screen Forced Spark Merge  
> *Off-Screen Torture


End file.
